Shells
by liseli
Summary: Harry daylights as the fulfillment of his father's dreams. But at night, he lives a different life entirely. What happens when his own world crosses his parents? And when a certain prophecy rears its ugly head? AU, postHogwarts, J&L alive, no slash.
1. Chapter 1

Disclaimer: None of this is mine. I'm not making any money (trust me) off of this. All belong to JK Rowling and Warner Brothers.

A/N: I will probably revise this for flow once more and what not, and if you have any suggestions I will gladly take them into consideration.

Chapter 1: I suppose you could consider this a prologue.

The sky was long past silencing the violent colors of sundown and the crickets were well into play when Harry James Potter apparated just outside the back fence. Vaulting the garden wall, he saw that practically all the lights in the house were on and several silhouettes could be seen dancing in the windows.

"Shit," he breathed. How could he have forgotten about his father's birthday party?

Staying carefully in the shadows and out of view of any guests glancing upon the lawn, he limped to the cellar door. Some nasty curse seemed to have fractured his kneecap and landing the way he did off the fence hadn't helped much. No matter; he'd get his mother to heal it up soon enough. But for now, it hurt like a mother.

He reached the outside entrance to the cellars and pressed his ear to the wooden door. Confident no one was currently making a wine run, he whispered "Alohamora," and entered. To his left was a room in which his parents had thrown some old patio furniture several years ago and forgotten about. It had since served Harry's purposes well.

"Twilly," he whispered as he stepped into the room and shut the door. With a _crack_, a wrinkled little house-elf with big brown eyes wearing a cut-up tea towel like a parka appeared. "Fetch me a change of robes—erm, Quidditch ones—and don't let anyone see you or know what you're doing."

"Yes, M-Master Harry James," she stammered before quickly disappearing.

Harry sat gingerly upon one of the deck chairs, being very sore from the evening's activities. _I'll probably have to obliviate Twilly again soon_, he thought. _She really knows too much._

The house elf reappeared in the room with another _snap_, this time her arms laden with blue and gold practice robes. Harry pointed to a table, indicating that she should leave them there.

"Go back to your business and tell no-one about any of this."

Training really had been invigorating this evening. Last time they had gone over stunners and obliviating spells (which he had perfected by the age of fifteen for his own devices). But tonight, they got to try something slightly more…sinister. Smiling wryly at the thought, he began to rub his robes against the clean ones he was now wearing so they would match the rest of him. He then took his black robes and matching mask, cast a cleaning charm upon them, and placed them in a box with a few other personal items in the dankest corner of the abandoned storage room. He placed a concealment charm on it then left.

Yes, tonight really had been exhilarating, he thought as he walked down the little hallway. They were shown a new spell—_sectumsempra—_and were told to practice it on whomever they liked. At the end of the hour, whoever was left alive would make it to the next meeting.

"Use only Sectumsempra and blocking spells," the instructor had said in his deep, nasally voice. "This is also a test of obedience." The clocktower tolled six, and they began. It couldn't have been more than five minutes before someone cast the first unforgivable. Harry glanced up at the instructor, but he gave no sign of noticing the spell.

At the end of the hour, the instructor had them line up before him. There wasn't a single person not covered in dirt and blood.

"Seventy-six," he said. "103 of you arrived here tonight, and only seventy-six of you remain. That means that some of you became killers tonight." Harry looked around. Some looked ready to be sick, while others were positively beaming. He hadn't killed anyone; would he be punished for that?

"You four," the instructor beckoned, selecting four from the line. They came forward. "Avada Kedavra," he positively purred, and the first man dropped. The other three plus a few who hadn't been selected began to run for it, but the instructor quickly took them down. "They were cowards," he explained simply. "Now," he continued, and pulled twenty-two more from the line. Harry's heart dropped to his muddied shoes as he was selected. "You were the only ones who followed orders. Stand aside. The rest of you will clean this field and burn the bodies, _without magic._"

As Harry turned the door handle to enter the party, he wondered vaguely whether Dumbledore realized that the Dark Lord now had enough volunteers to be… selective.

---------------

Harry had arrived late and somewhat dazed yet again. "He's going to be the death of Lily at this rate." Lupin mumbled to himself. He was sitting on a bench in the dinning room, which was very full at the moment due to the buffet spread out to the birthday guests. From where he was seated though, he happened to have a nice view into the kitchen and had just seen Harry come out of the cellars. His Quidditch robes were muddied and he himself seemed to be a bit cut up, but Remus knew well enough that practice would have ended hours ago.

"Harry James!" Lily cried from the other side of the room. "We were all so worried, where have you been?" Remus managed to catch something about practice running late before the pair was swallowed by a swarm of middle-aged Quidditch fanatics. Lily could be so blind.

Remus set his drink on the window sill. _It must have been about four years ago_, he thought; Harry would have been fifteen and home for the summer holidays.

Yes, James had flooed to Lupin's little house in the Trossachs wearing a poorly disguised worried and puzzled expression. Remus had put his book down and to gaze at his friend as he tided himself up from his trip. _No Sirius, _he thought, for it was highly unusual to see one of those two without the other, even so long after their school days.

"Hello, James."

"Oh, hello," James replied, fiddling with something in his pocket.

"You say that like you didn't expect to find me here." _Something is up…_

"I just had a, err, a question."

"Yes? You can sit down, you know."

James sat down on the coffee table, of all places, his hands still in his pockets. "Well, ah, earlier, I was looking for a spare snitch—I was going to wake Harry, see if he wanted to practice." Lupin cursed inwardly._ Harry hates Quidditch._ "Well, anyway, you know that old storage room?" He was still shifting about uncomfortably.

"James, you and Lily probably have somewhere around eleven storage rooms in that manor of yours."

"The one in the cellars with all the old patio furniture."

"Yes…"

"Well, I was looking for a snitch."

"You already said that."

"Well, I um, I didn't find any snitches."

"Calm down and get to the point." He said, putting on his best Dumbledore face.

"I found this." He took his hand out of his right pocket to reveal two capped syringes. Lupin swallowed hard. He had been around enough unsavory characters in his work to know what those were.

"Remus—Moony—what are they?" He asked as if he didn't really want to know. James was a well-bred pure blood. He wouldn't know of such muggle filth. But he obviously had an idea of what they were; he had to have come to Remus with this so as not to scare Lily for a reason.

Lupin took the syringes from his old friend's opened hand. "They're muggle drugs, but I don't know exactly what kind." James seemed to appear somewhat relieved. _Drugs_—he _would_ know what they were. There were wizarding 'drugs,' and Lupin didn't doubt that James and Sirius had played around with a few a time or two before (he could remember an incidence in particular involving the Giant Squid). Wizarding drugs were different, however. They, too, were illegal, but for the most part, all they did was make the user act stupidly. A sort of tickling sensation in one's brain with no real side effects. Not like this rubbish he held in his hand now. "No James, these aren't like what you're thinking of. These are bad—serious consequences could come from—"

But James already heard more than he wanted to hear. "Oh, alright then. That—that's what I needed to know. Well, I'll see you at dinner Sunday evening? Callen McInty is coming down so we're having haggis and 'tatties' or something like that." He was already at the fire place with floo powder in his hands.

"I'll be there," Remus sighed.

"Well, we'll see you then." He threw the powder in and had come and gone as quick as that.

Lupin conjured up a cup of tea and shook his head. James would dispose of the drugs as soon as he got home, but that would be the end of it. He would buy a new set of Quidditch balls so he never had an excuse to go into that store room again and he could tell himself it was over. Just like that. He might even still wake Harry for that game afterward.

The syringes were Harry's, there was no doubt about that. And now that Lupin thought about it, it _would_ be easy enough for darling little Harry James to get his hands on such things. All he had to do was step out side the Leakey or, even easier, make a little stop in town when he visited his muggle grandmother later in the summer.

But James would pretend not to know and Lily would never know and darling little Harry James would continue on with his father's unfulfilled Quidditch dreams. No one would ever know the Potters were unhappy, and it wasn't Remus Lupin's place to interfere with that.

He sucked on the lip of his tea mug for a moment before shifting his thoughts to the backburner and returning to the party.

-----------

Lily clicked her tongue. "Now, how did you say this happened?" She was pulling a basket down from one of the shelves in her bathroom closet. She rummaged around a bit and then took out a roll of gauze and a pink tube and went over to where her son was.

"A bludger in the knee." He said from where he was sitting on the bathroom counter, his robes pulled up to his thighs.

She clicked her tongue again and began winding the gauze around said knee, earning a few winces from her son. Then she murmured the simple healing spell under her breath and moved onto the next injury. "And this?" She asked, referring to a particularly nasty cut along his chin.

"Some of the reinforcement is peeling off my broom handle. I've left it with Reeves in the shop."

Lily chuckled and spread some of the pink ointment on his chin. "I half expected you to say that you had run into one of those spikes on the banister at the Longbottoms' again. Neville is here, by the way. So are the Patil twins, that McLaggen boy, half the Weasley children, Lee Jordan, Alicia Spinnet, Oliver Wood, Hermione Granger—she's interning at St. Mungo's now, did you know? Oh, and Katie Bell—"

"Invite the whole bloody Tower, did you Mum?" Harry mumbled.

"Well, I just thought you might like to interact with people your own age for once, Harry James. You haven't seen any of your friends since you've graduated." She snapped. "Your father is still close to Peter and Sirius and Remus. Why don't you just go out for drinks with Cormac some time or take Hermione to dinner or something?"

"McLaggen's a jerk."

"And Hermione?" Harry raised an eyebrow. "You're right, she is a bit uptight, isn't she? Well, plenty of other fish in the sea." Lily sighed. "Yes, the rest of these scrapes look alright, and that one on your chin is nearly gone now. Go shower and change, and please be downstairs again before the party's over." She patted him on the shoulder and he pulled his robes back down and left.

Lily was putting the basket back into her closet when James came up behind her and wrapped his arm around her waist.

"Quidditch injuries?" He asked. She nodded. "All patched up now?" She nodded again. He closed the closet door for her and whispered in her ear, "I think it's time for another martini, and _I_ want to make it for you."

"Well, I suppose since you're not quite drunk _yet…_" She said with a smile playing around her face. The couple returned to the party.

-----------

Ginny Weasley was sitting on a bench in the foyer of the Georgian-style manor, butter beer in hand, with most of the other party guests her age. None of them really knew any of the Potters very well, aside from Neville, but one just doesn't _turn down_ an invitation to a party like this. Lily and James were very well known throughout the wizarding community, being on a first-name basis with the Minister and all (who, she noted, was currently losing very badly at billiards and apparently had a rather nice taste for Bourbon whiskey), and, well, Harry James was first-string seeker for Puddlemere—the youngest in the league—wasn't he? That was enough to get all of them here, she supposed, though Hermione had probably come just for a peek into the library or something dull like that.

"Harry James is here!" Ron exclaimed upon returning from his trip to the bar. He looked star struck and not quite sober. The expression suited his personality well, Ginny noted with bemusement.

"He lives here, Ron." Alicia said, her eyes rolling. "And pass me one of those would you?" Ron handed her a drink.

"Did you get his autograph?" Katie asked eagerly.

"_Say_, you didn't! We're_ guests_ here, not spectators." Parvati looked positively mortified.

"No, he looked really beat up though. Limping and everything!" Ron was grinning from ear to ear, still standing with about six drinks in his hands.

"Don't sound so happy about it." Ginny said, but he didn't seem to hear.

"He was in his Puddlemere practice robes, so I guess he's jus gotten back from practice." He continued as he began to pass around the drinks.

Alicia seemed to be in a particularly vicious mood this evening. "Nooo, you think?"

"He should begin training with the national team soon now though, huh?" Ron asked, still unabashed.

Just then the twins returned to the foyer.

"I don't know if even _he_ will be able to save the English this year." George took a seat next to Ginny and Fred took one by Alicia, though perhaps that was not the smartest move.

"But Puddlemere is league champion!"

"We, know, Ron. You've been saying so since we got here." Alicia pushed Fred's hand off her knee.

"So, how are things at the kiddie table?" Fred asked.

"No more interesting than when you left." Katie slumped off her chair and onto the floor.

"These parties are really more for the, erm, middle aged." Neville said.

"I can see that."

"Well, did you two find anything interesting to do?"

"We had a nice long talk with Sirius Black himself."

"None of which is your business."

"Way to be a conversation killer, Fred."

Ginny laughed and went to take another sip of her drink, but stopped—Harry James was standing in the doorway, freshly washed and cutting a very imposing figure, despite his height (or lack thereof). The room became abruptly silent and Ron whipped around to found himself nose-to-nose with the seeker.

----------

Ron Weasley's breath stank of the gin and tonic he was drinking. He and Harry stood nearly an inch apart for a moment before he tripped backward. Harry could see his sister in the corner; she looked like she might die of embarrassment. Inwardly, he rolled his eyes. He had known all these people for years. Granted, he had never really been friends with them, but now that he was signed on to Puddlemere, they all acted so strangely.

"Hello," Parvati said, but somewhere between the unnatural tone of her voice and the batting of her eyelashes, she came across a little too strongly. Her sister stomped on her foot and Harry blushed a little, though more out of pity than anything.

"Err, having a good time, are you?" He asked as he sat down on the steps with his hands in his pockets.

"Oh, yes."

"Wonderful, wonderful."

"Great party."

"Yeah."

_Brilliant, they're all liars now too._ He was beginning to regret not 'accidentally' slipping in the shower and suffering a concussion.

Just as he expected, before long they were all asking for autographs and pictures and for him to recount that time he did the Wronski Feint against the Montrose Magpies and Parvati had even managed to stop blushing. They were enthralled, but it wasn't exactly a good time for Harry. This wasn't friendship, it was fan worship. For him it was more like walking into the Three Broom Sticks on a Hogwarts weekend than anything.

Around two A.M. he excused himself, saying that he had to be up early for practice in the morning, which was the truth. He had to be at the Puddlemere grounds for seven to practice finding that God-forsaken snitch.

He found his dad, who most definitely had had too much to drink by now, sitting on the back porch with what remained of the over-thirty party. It was just the marauders now, each one wasted, aside from Lupin.

"Happy birthday, Dad."

"Thank you, thank you, and many many many more to come and all that, right-o." He stood up to give Harry a one-armed hug.

"Harry James, m'boy! Haven'a seen you all night!" Sirius slurred out.

"Hello Sirius, and Peter and Remus, while I'm at it." Lupin nodded and Peter gave a 'hic.'

"Sit down, Harry," Lupin said. "And turn on the lights, would you?" Harry turned on the lights but didn't sit down.

"Yes, yes, how waser practice son?"

For a split second, Harry was going to tell them how the practice he _had _been to that evening had been; they wouldn't remember it in the morning. But Lupin was sober._Damn it_. Lupin had a way of always ruining things like that.

"Actually, I need to get to bed. Practice again in the morning." Harry's right leg gave an involuntary kick at the Adirondack chair behind him. Lupin eyed him suspiciously. "Well, erm, goodnight then."

"G'night, Harry James! And God save the Queen!"

"'Cause 'cause 'cause no one else will!" Finished Peter, giggling uncontrollably.

_I really need to move out…_

_----------_

"Oh, bloody hell." James mumbled as he pulled his pillow over his face. The party had been great last night; he only remembered the first half of it, but judging by the size of his headache, the second half must have been pretty damn good too. He lay there for a few minutes more before rolling over to see the time.

"It's 1:07 in the afternoon." A voice said before he could crack an eye open toward the clock.

James had scrambled to the other side of the bed before his groggy brain realized whose voice it was. "Oh, God," He muttered in surprise.

"Albus will do, thank you." Professor Dumbledore replied, his smile apparent in his voice. James squinted his eyes against the afternoon sun to see his old headmaster standing in the doorway.

"Hello, Professor. I'm err, afraid you've caught me at my…scruffiest." He said feeling the stubble along his chin and suddenly realizing that he was only wearing his boxers. He pulled a bath robe from the stool at the end of the bed and put it on before getting up to greet his guest properly.

"How are you this after-lunch?" Albus asked.

James came around the bed and shook his hand. "Harry James is going to begin training for England soon, did you know? Hope the rest of the team measures up; they certainly didn't do well without him last year."

"I asked how _you_ are James, not Harry's Quidditch career."

"Oh, well, I'm fine. Bit of a headache from last night, but other than that…"

"Good party then? I heard you had quite a turn out."

"We did. Loads of fun."

Dumbledore made a humming noise and offered a lemon drop to James.

"Not to be rude or anything, Professor, but just _why_ are you in my bed room?"

"First and foremost, I came wish you a belated happy birthday, as I could not attend your fete last night—or this morning, by the looks of it." He chuckled and James ran his fingers through his hair, slightly embarrassed. "Secondly, you gave your word last time we spoke that you would help me with this new security plan I'm trying to send through the ministry."

"That pamphlet thing?"

"For home defense measures."

"Oh, yeah, yeah." He yawned. "Let me get dressed and grab a spot of lunch."

"Excellent. I think I'll go find Lily while I'm waiting; I hear her Rhododendrons are doing exceptionally well." And with that, the Headmaster left.

James shook his head but regretted doing so immediately. It only magnified his headache.

----------

Albus was seated at the kitchen table and Lily was preparing tea and sandwiches when James surfaced, freshly clothed and shaved. _Twleve minutes and twenty-seven seconds_, he thought to himself. He knew so without even looking at his watch—as a boy he had had a peculiar habit of timing things and, being now 126 years of age, he could perform these little calculations in his head without even thinking about it. He looked down at his watch and found that he was correct, as per usual.

James took his glance at his wristwatch for impatience and said, "Sorry to keep you waiting, Headmaster."

Albus smiled. These little patterns of the mind amused him greatly. "Oh, it's quite all right. I had a lovely little stroll through your garden. That's one thing I do miss these days, gardening." He took a sip of the tea Lily set before him and watched her over the brim of his cup. He could see his former pupil mentally checking him off on her Christmas gift list. It was only August with plenty of time for her to forget, but, knowing Lily Potter, Albus could expect a potted rhododendron for Christmas this year.

He and James were seated in James's office sixteen minutes and fifty-seven seconds later. Albus always felt peculiar sitting in front of a desk rather than behind it. This sensation was even more bizarre as James Potter was on the opposite side. He was not a 'desk person.' Dumbledore could see that he had also noticed the humor in the situation but was determined to rise to the occasion; his face contorted into the closest he could come to Minerva McGonagall. Albus chuckled again.

He let James begin. "So, Albus," Albus noted the use of his first name. James did not usually call him by that and there was a certain awkwardness in the way he said it, as though he felt it out-of-place in his vocabulary. He could have chuckled yet again, but decided that that would be rather rude. "What did you need me for again?"

"Help with this new bi-monthly Home Security Provisions Pamphlet the Ministry is going to start distributing." James was visibly impressed at his former headmaster having asked for his advise. The request wasn't just a nicety on Albus's part, either. James had traveled the world studying defense methods and tactics for four years before marrying Lily and now worked a comfy job at Gringotts. He came up with a new set of security mechanisms for the bank once a month—the goblins were well-versed in the hexes and traps of their own personal style, but they weren't the most creative of creatures.

"Bi-monthly, really?" James asked, leaning onto his desk and interlocking his fingers. Albus got the impression that he was looking into a carnival mirror, as his former pupil was now inadvertently doing an impression of him, and once more he suppressed a laugh. "The last time I think we got anything of the sort from the Ministry was before Harry James was born."

"Yes, and it didn't come with very good advise, either. I've brought it to Barty's attention though, and he said that if I wanted it to happen I would have to be in charge of it myself. So, I was wondering if you would grant an old Professor a favor and, ah, take the reins, so to speak. I believe this is more of your area of expertise."

The meeting lasted two hours, seven minutes, and 26 seconds, in which time James agreed to take on the project and the two planned out the entire first pamphlet, much of the second, and began a list of spells and precautions to include in the ensuing publications. Albus was very pleased. Both James and Lily invited him to dinner later that evening, which was sorely tempting, but he had some headmaster duties to attend to.

"Next Order meeting then?" James asked him as the three were standing in the foyer, saying their goodbyes.

"Of course. And I hope to find you properly attired, this time." He replied with a wink and left the couple laughing in the hallway.

--------

Dinner was a subdued affair that evening, as it was just the Potters in their large dining room with seating for twenty and room for more. The ceilings were high and the walls were paneled in oak with a few paintings hanging on each. The chandelier hung low over the centerpiece, light reflecting off the crystal place settings and china cabinets. The table was laid for ten and there was enough dinner for at least that many, but they weren't expecting anyone; they were praying for someone to come in and fill in some of the empty space. The three Potters seemed a bit too small for the room on their own these days.

"So, how was practice?" James asked as Twilly ladled more pasta onto his plate.

"Same as usual." Harry replied listlessly, swirling the wine around in his glass.

"Are you excited about starting practice with the national team?" Lily asked. Harry shrugged.

_All the fight in him is gone. _James sighed. Harry hadn't shown enthusiasm for anything in a long time, and James had been hoping that this spot on the England team would liven him up a bit. But his son had changed. It was obvious, and it bothered both him and Lily. But it just wasn't something they talked about. Somehow, it just wasn't.

---------

There was a gaping canyon that separated Lily and James from their son. All three were trying desperately to cling to their own paths around it.

A/N: Wow, it's been a long time since I've done anything on fanfiction. Anyway, in this chapter I really just wanted to set up the situation here. There is a specific reason that Lily and James are still alive, and I will get to that in the next chapter (or possibly the one after that; I still have to work out the details). Different perspectives really interest me, so you'll probably be seeing a lot of that. Let me know if it becomes unclear as to who's POV I'm narrating from. Also, there will be a bit more meat to the chapters from now on, I promise.

And just as an FYI, the drug Harry uses in this story is loosely based on the effects of PCP (being used mainly as the long-term effects and some withdrawal symptoms—not while he's on the drug) and Benzodiazepines, more specifically Midazolam (while he's on the drug and some of the withdrawal symptoms). I've never done drugs before (the closest I've come is few sips of wine, and found it not to my liking), so almost all of my information comes from Wikipedia articles. Any suggestions are welcome. Stop me if I begin to butcher it.

Santa Claus says don't do drugs, kiddos, so I wouldn't if I were you.

A few reviews would be most appreciated.


	2. Fun to the Power of Three

**A/N:** Sorry about the long wait—I recently went through finding a beta so that I can post on FictionAlley.This is the unbeta'd version of the story. For the grammar-combed and flow-perfected version (plus possibly a few added things), search "Liseli" or "Shells" on FictionAlley(.)(org) over the next few days; they haven't approved it just yet.

Muchos gracias, Nissa7, Latisha C, Good Witch, BabyDragon848, staghunt, snowpuppies, and Random Shinobi for reviewing!

This would have been up _hours_ ago if wasn't acting up. I was really ticked for a while there. Really ticked.

One last FYI: Lily has a job; she's a Healer, but that never really becomes too important to the story.

**Chapter 1: Fun Cubed **

_Twenty-three more minutes, _Harry thought, scratching his arm absentmindedly. _Just a little bit longer now. _He sat on a windowsill in his bedroom with his back to the May sun, trying to warm himself. But it did little good. A chill shot up his spine. _Someone's walking over your grave_—the superstition came back to him for the umpteenth time that day. He shook himself out a little and looked up at the clock. _Twenty-one and a half_ _minutes._

He had reasoned that at 4:45 he could leave for 5:00 "Quidditch practice" without arousing suspicion. He would walk out the front gate, Disapparate to the back fence, and sneak into the cellars as he had done so many times before. And there, _there_ he could relieve his anxieties until 8:00.

Harry heard James' footsteps coming down the hallway. He hurriedly opened the tactics handbook he had ready and pretended to read. His father stopped in the doorway.

"Ready for practice?" He asked, drumming his fingers on the end table beside the door.

"Uh-huh," Harry responded without looking up.

"What are you reading?"

Harry held up the book for him to see.

"Ah, well, I'll see you later on tonight then." James cast his eyes around the room, waiting to see if his son had anything to say. Apparently he didn't.

After his father left, Harry shut the door to change into his practice robes. He was particularly anxious this afternoon to get down to the cellars.

Yes, tonight was the night; after eight months of training, tonight at 8:00, he and the other candidates would gather for their final test and, if all went well, Harry would return home as a fully-fledged Death Eater. Each time he thought about it, a shot of adrenaline seemed to go through his stomach before melting back into the unpleasantly nauseating sensation of apprehension.

He flopped onto his bed at took another glance at the clock. _Sixteen minutes, forty seconds._ Well, 4:30-ish wasn't too early to leave, was it? If anyone asked, he would just say he ah, wanted to get an 'early start.' His father loved it when he told him that kind of stuff.

"That's dedication for you," he would tell his friends over drinks that night, and they would all be glad to hear it, too. It was their champion Seeker who was working so hard, after all! And that was that much better for their chances at the Cup this year, wasn't it? Harry James, with such determination, was going to carry this team to victory! And there would be many shouts of "Cheers!" and a toast to James's boy and another round of drinks for all.

On this particular day, however, Harry managed to get past the garden and into the cellars without running into his mother or any of the "Marauders," who, on any given day of the week, were more likely to be visiting than not. It was just as well, for he wasn't sure he would have been able to string together a coherent sentence at that point. His mouth was dry and his nerves were nearly at breaking point.

Sliding down onto the floor beside his hidden box, Harry gave a sigh of relief. The needle was in. _No, just a little this evening,_ he told himself. He had to be ready for later on tonight. Restraining himself, he pushed the plunger and slipped into a place where he knew nothing real.

-----

Lord Voldemort wondered what Harry James Potter was really up to. Did this Phoenixlet think he could play spy? Quidditch players did have a tendency to be delusional and Potter was easy enough to read. Voldemort sneered. He would find out soon enough.

The Death Eaters were in place and the candidates were lined up before him now. They were dressed in black robes like the others but with black masks and only Lord Voldemort and their instructor knew who each one was. That way one little deserter couldn't rat the whole crowd out—very important. He supposed he had more of an army than a "crowd" now, but addressing them as such would only make Lucious and the like indignant. They would protest to merely being considered "soldiers" and try to worm their way into becoming "commanders" and "generals." No, as it was, each one could go on pretending that he was "second in command" or in his "inner circle." Their delusions could be quite amusing.

Snape was making the same speech he gave to all the candidates. The Dark Lord had outlined this and the training process years ago and very little had been changed since. It was all quite boring until the finalists went through their last test. Oh, that was good fun, watching these kids squirm under his scrutiny as they found out what they were to do—torture and kill. But the ultimate satisfaction was watching those go at it for the first time. One could actually see them being positively torn inside. It was the torturers being tortured by the very act of torturing. It was fun cubed.

But for now, it was the speech; boring but necessary. Lord Voldemort tapped his long, white fingers on the arm of his chair in a most sinister fashion. He, naturally, had an excellent view of all the proceedings from his raised platform at the front of the group. He scanned the candidates for Potter. His startling green eyes made him easy enough to spot. As the Dark Lord's gaze came to rest on him, he could feel Potter steel himself. He stood up a little straighter but didn't break eye contact. No, the boy was most definitely not a Legilimens, but he knew what was going on. That, more than anything Lord Voldemort could have uncovered in his mind, told him all he needed to know for now. Harry James had nothing to hide. He was loyal like the Gryffindor he was.

Lord Voldemort was elated. Potter was exactly what he had been looking for.

------

Harry's right hand was clenched around his wand; his left had formed a fist at his side. His jaw was set and he was going up and down on one foot, then the other. Seven people had passed, four had failed, and three stood before him now, eleven behind. Since their task had been announced he had been trying to mentally prepare himself. _Think of all those years in that goddamn school, all those goddamn Snitches, all those goddamn middle-aged fans who pretend to be your friends. Think of Lily and James and the frickin' "Marauders" and that disappearing step in the fourth floor corridor. _Two more stood before him. _Think of those suits of armor singing crappy Christmas carols. Think of James's incessant Quidditch play-by-plays and Lily's incessant nagging about your social life. Think of every day without a hit. Think of going out for milk only to be bombarded for photographs. Think of all James's bloody dreams for you. _

The guy before him backed out. Harry moved up and stood before his victim. She was thirty, thirty-five with frazzled brown hair and a wooden spoon hanging out of her apron pocket, long forgotten. Her eyes were wide but she looked as if she had lost her voice to scream. He could feel hundreds of eyes on him and his stomach turning over. His mouth was dry and his knuckles were turning white.

He raised his wand and cast the Cruciatus. Her shouts filled the night air. Yes, he could cast the Cruciatus. He knew that. But did he have what it took to kill? He raised his wand again and opened his mouth to say the spell. He couldn't get it out. Panicking, he went over the list he had just made. He thought up all the things he hated and then made up some. How long had he been standing there? He was suddenly reminded of his Sorting Ceremony. How long before they decided it was too long and killed him? The woman was still writhing and thrashing. What would happen if she died? Did she have a family to go home to? What would happen if he didn't kill her? Would Lord Voldemort kill him like all the others?

And then he fully understood, it was either him or her. He was in control, he realized with sick satisfaction. He was in control of her life the way James had always been in control of his. This was his moment. It was now or never.

"Avada Kedavra!" It came out louder than he intended it to. He saw the lights leave her eyes and the spoon fall out of her pocket as she fell awkwardly to the ground. Then, with no pomp or ceremony, a Death Eater shoved the body aside.

Harry was called forward. He went up to the platform and pulled the sleeve up on his right arm. The instructor pushed him before the Dark Lord. Harry held his arm out before him, his eyes wide and jaw set again.

"Vigorous" was all the Dark Lord said before putting his wand to Harry's extended arm and saying the incantation. Harry breathed inward sharply; it was painful. "You were quite unexpected, Harry James." The Dark Lord caught his gaze and Harry could feel him listening to his thoughts once more. "Yes, _Harry_, quite unexpected."

"Thank you, my Lord," he said and kneeled to kiss the hem of his robes.

He woke up some time around noon the next day. His groggy brain remembered with ecstasy the events of last night before he realized why he had woken up in the first place.

"Harry James!" His mother was knocking at the door. "Darling, it's one o'clock, you should get up."

"Alright, just a minute," he said as he stretched.

"Are you feeling well?" Her muffled voice came through the door.

"I'm okay, thanks." He swung his legs over the bed and put on his glasses.

"Why don't you open up and let me check on you?"

_Oh shit._ He had left everything out from last night. "Er, just a moment." In one motion, he pulled his top drawer open and put his empty syringe in it, picked up his mask—which was now white rather than black—and shoved it under his mattress, then pulled his robes off and did the same with them. He fixed his glasses and opened the door to his mother wearing only his boxers.

She put the back of her hand on his forehead. "Why was your door locked anyway?"

"I slept naked," he lied.

She was slightly taken aback by this answer. "And why on earth did you do that?"

Harry laughed inwardly. She probably thought he had had a girl over or something. He shrugged. "Why not?"

"You got in awfully late last night," she said, now taking his pulse.

"The team went out for drinks."

"And you went with them?"

"Mmhm." He had given her the right lie.

Suddenly excited at the prospect of her son going on a social outing, she forgot her suspicions of him being sick or having sex. "Did you happen to find a date for the Gala?"

"No, not yet." Too much progress on one night would have seemed suspicious.

"Well, your lunch is downstairs when you're ready. Your father's at a meeting but Sirius is here—try to catch him before he leaves, won't you?"

"Sure Mum." She kissed his forehead and left.

Having no intentions of seeing his godfather if he couldn't help it, he went into his bathroom for a very long shower.

-------

"Got him up, have you?" Siruis asked as he watched Lily emerge from the stairwell.

She nodded with a broad smile. "Apparently he went out with the team last night." _No wonder she's smiling._ Harry James never went out with friends.

"Still no girl though, eh?" He took a gulp of his pumpkin juice.

"No, but speaking of girls, have you gotten rid of that Rachel woman yet?" She asked as she set a polishing charm on the silverware.

Sirius let out a big, barking laugh. "You just want me all for yourself, don't you?" Lily had talked him out of or scared off any girlfriend he'd had for the last twenty years and he wouldn't be surprised if she did the same for Harry James if he ever started dating.

"I just want you to have someone who deserves you," she said.

"Lily, I'm just looking for someone who'd put up with me." He laughed again. "Besides, I haven't met a girl yet you approve of."

"No, there's Tonks—"

"We're related and she has a thing for Remus."

Lily dismissed the comment. "What about Matilda Rows? Or Bertha Jorkins?"

"Or the trolley lady on the Hogwarts Express?" Sirius teased. "Lily, you've got your hands full with Harry James's love life."

"You mean the lack thereof."

He stretched and made a humming noise in the back of his throat that indicated neither a yes nor a no so as not to get Lily started. "I've got to get back to the office."

"Coming for dinner tonight?"

"Well if I'm dumping Rachel I don't have any place else to be, do I?" He put his dishes in the sink and walked to fire place.

Lily laughed. "I've got to go to Mungo's this afternoon so Twilly will be cooking."

"It's all the same to a bachelor who can't make grilled cheese." He threw the Floo Powder in and stepped in. "Auror Complex."

------

Rita Skeeter was on double-duty tonight, covering the Gala for both the _Prophet_ and _Witch Weekly Radio_.

"Bozo! Over here, this spot will do." Rita called her photographer over to a spot beside a small birdbath on a pedestal along the red carpet. She took a glance at her reflection in the water. Tonight she was sporting her signature rhinestone spectacles, blue eye shadow, and tight-fitting, floor-length gold robes with little silver hearts all along the trim. After pinning up a fallen curl and magically draining the basin, she took a roll of parchment and her acid-green Quick Quotes Quill out of her bag and placed them in the flat bottom of the birdbath.

"No, Bozo, over here you dimwit!" she called over the gathering crowd of spectators and reporters. Reaching into her bag once again, she pulled out what looked like a muggle microphone and inserted her wand through a hole in the bottom. "Finally! Now, get a picture of me in front of the red carpet for tomorrow's paper."

At precisely one minute past six, Rita turned her wand counter-clockwise and the microphone came to life.

"Good evening, Witch Weekly Listeners, and welcome to the four-hundred-and-thirty-ninth annual Hogwarts School Benefit Gala! Your Red Carpet Confidante Rita Skeeter is here just outside the lovely home of Madame Amelia Bones, this year's hostess.

"Earlier today, yours truly got a peek inside the dining room—which has been specially enlarged for tonight's event—and does it look spectacular! The ladies at Charming Event Planners and Coordinators have truly outdone themselves. A pixie hive hangs low over the dance floor, bathing the room in a warm, purple light. Twenty tables have been set up with the finest Russian Goblin crystal and special porcelain china with the Hogwart's crest in the center of each charger.

"Speaking of tables—while a single ticket donation for the Gala is fifty Galleons, a table donation can go for upward of six hundred Galleons! That's more than three thousand copies of _Witch Weekly_—check the stands tomorrow for photographs of tonight's event.

"_WWR_ has obtained an exclusive list of this year's table donors. There's Minister Crouch, former minister Millicent Bagnold, The Weird Sisters, Mr. and Mrs. Lucius Malfoy, Festus Al-Barqir (inventor of the Firebolt line), James and Lily Potter (proud parents of our national seeker, Harry James)—"

Ron switched the radio off. "I can't believe you let her go out with that, that—"

"Quidditch player?" Bill finished.

"Yes!"

"Since when have you had something against Quidditch players?" His mother asked from the sink where she was washing potatoes.

"You know what kind of expectations those guys have," he replied darkly.

"You seemed ready enough to snog him last February, Ron." Fred and George had just returned to the kitchen from gathering carrots for dinner. "And I can't see Ginny having much of a problem doing so, either."

"You know what I mean…."

Mrs. Weasley set her potatoes on the kitchen table to begin dicing them. "That's enough. I've heard nothing but nice things about Harry James, and Ginny is perfectly capable of taking care of herself. Now, leave if you like, because I would really like to listen to this broadcast. Turn the radio back on, Ron."

But all of them took a seat at the table. Truth be told, they had all come to the Burrow that evening just to hear about their kid sister's date with the all-star. The radio crackled back to life.

"And here is Mr. Enoch Surnom, ah not stopping for interviews, I see. Mr. Surnom is chairman of the Governing Board of Hogwarts and is expected to deliver a speech on the importance of education in character development later this evening."

"Sorry I'm not there for that," Ron muttered.

"Shhh!" Mrs. Weasley hissed as she added the potatoes to her pot over the fire.

"—James Potter, on his arm is Lily Potter in a dazzling white ensemble. Right behind them is their son, Harry James in a dashing black silk piece with green trim, which complements his eyes nicely, and—what's this? Yes, the Solo Seeker has a date this evening!"

Mrs. Weasley positively squealed.

"She has bright red hair and a petite frame and is dressed in a turquoise blue number. Let's see if we can get them over for a word, shall we? Harry James! Over here! This way! His date is whispering something in his ear and—oh yes, they're coming this way! Mr. Potter, what a pleasure! You're live with Witch Weekly Radio. How are you this evening?"

"Fine, thank you," he replied in hardly more than a mumble.

"And who might this charming young lady be?"

"Ginny Weasley."

"Mum, your pot is boiling over," Bill pointed out.

"Shhh!"

He got up to correct the problem himself.

"Who are you wearing this evening, Ginny?" Rita asked.

"Madame Malkin." Ginny's smile could be heard over the radio.

"And you, Harry James?"

"Twillfit and Tatting."

"A _very_ nice choice, I must say! Well enjoy yourselves tonight! I hope to see you two at the European Wizard Music Awards in Vienna next week!"

"Alright," Harry responded ambiguously.

"Well, you heard it here first! Harry James Potter is dating the seemingly unknown Ginny Weasley!"

Mrs. Weasley was beside herself with excitement. "We're going to have to get her another dress!"

------

Ginny had to admit, she was a little star struck. Well, to begin with, she was on a date with the most celebrated Seeker of all time, and secondly, he certainly wasn't the only famous person in the room. She had been sorely tempted to ask Myron Wagtail for his autograph, but she had to remember that she was here as one of "them."

"Harry James, look," she said quietly so as not to attract too much attention—everyone seemed to be talking in just above a whisper.

"Hmm?" He responded without looking up from the program he was folding.

"It's Gwenog Jones."

"I don't see her."

"There, beside the ficus tree."

"Oh, I see her now."

"Would you introduce me to her?"

"She would hate you."

Ginny was taken aback. "What? She doesn't even know me."

"Well, she's a bit of a man-hater; she would hold it against you that you came with me tonight, especially as Puddlemere flattened the Holyheads last match."

"Really?"

"If she doesn't try to take you down her girlfriend certainly will."

Ginny laughed a bit. Harry James wasn't who she had expected him to be. She had seen him around Hogwarts and at his father's birthday party and she knew that he kept to himself, but one-on-one, he could be quite entertaining, if in a distant sort of way. She thought he would actually be rather fun to be around if he would open up a little, but perhaps this wasn't the best place to do so.

"What's that you've made?"

He held up the paper that used to be his Gala invitation. "A paper crane." He squeezed his fingers together just below the bird's wings and made it flap. "You want it?"

Just then Mrs. Potter came over, her face red from dancing. "Come on you two, get out there!"

Harry James put the paper crane on her empty plate and obligingly took her hand.

------

All his mother's nagging had paid off. Harry James had indeed asked a girl to the Gala. Surprisingly, once he gave into the idea that he was going to have a date for the event, he actually put quite a lot of thought into whom to ask. After all, he was going to have to spend the better part of six hours and appear in every gossip rag with the girl.

Ginny wasn't well known, she didn't have an ego, and she wasn't anything like Parvati Patil or Hermione Granger. She had enjoyed the red carpet a bit too much for Harry's liking (meaning that she was willing to spend more than 2.2 seconds on it), but he had been expecting that. Sure, she was Quidditch-obsessed, but at least she had had the decency to not blabber on about it all night. Oh, and it didn't hurt that she wasn't hard to look at. On the whole, he felt he had made a nice choice. He would probably even bring her to that event next week, as Lily would most definitely insist upon him having a date from now on.

He and Ginny danced a few numbers but, much to Harry's relief, she didn't seem to enjoy dancing much more than he did.

"Modern jazz just isn't really my thing," she said as they exited the dance floor.

"I don't think it's really anybody's 'thing'."

"Your parents seem to enjoy it," she responded as they stood to the side, watching.

"Well, give anyone enough cocktails and they'll think it's good music, much less those two."

Ginny let out a laugh. "This is true."

"Speaking of, would you like to go get a drink?"

"Sure."

They were making their way through the empty tables toward the bar on the other end of the room when Harry's Dark Mark suddenly began to burn. He hissed in pain and instinctively grabbed his right forearm before he realized what he was doing.

"Harry James are you—" Then comprehension dawned on her face. Harry let go of his arm and tried to give a neutral expression, but it was too late.

"Shit." This was his first call and he was already discovered. Before she had time to react, he took her by the wrist and whispered in his darkest voice, "Come with me."

But she wasn't buying it. Ginny tried to jerk her hand out of his but Harry cast a discreet (and rather too strong) Calming charm just in time. He then led her to the back garden, which was vacant due to the heat. He made her sit down on a stone bench out of view of any windows then ran around to a gazebo on the other side of the house. He cast the Dark Mark then sprinted back to where Ginny was. The ability to think on his feet was one good thing Quidditch had given him.

The effects of the Calming charm were beginning to wear off when he returned to where she was, but he quickly cast a Memory charm. She held a blank stare for a moment, forgetting everything that had happened in the last three minutes or so. Harry took a seat beside her. Several people were screaming already. When her senses returned to her he made a panicked expression and pointed to the sky. She shrieked.

"Come on!" He shouted and the pair jumped up off the bench and ran inside.

The scene inside the dining room was complete chaos. Harry had cast the spell from a position where any lingering reporters would be the first to see it and, doubtless, it was they whom he had heard first. It was enough to alert everyone inside and allow Harry and Ginny to come back in, unnoticed.

"This way," Harry yelled over the cacophony. He led Ginny away from the herd trying to make it out through the front doors.

"Where are we going? The exit's that way!"

"I've been here before now come on!" They ran down a long hallway through a door at the very end, then straight through that room to the door at the other end. It was a side exit from the house that led to a small court yard. Apparently someone had had the same idea as them because the gate was already unlatched.

They ran to the edge of the Apparation ward, the Dark Mark in the sky and on Harry's arm burning all the time. "Your place," he said, and the pair left.

-----

The front door knob began to shake violently, as if someone was trying to get into the house. Molly dropped the dish she was washing and, panicking, pulled out her wand. Whoever it was was now banging on the door. _You-Know-Who wouldn't knock, Molly._ She pocketed her wand and went to the door.

"Who is it?" She asked, her hand hovering over her wand, just in case.

"It's me, Mum; Ginny!"

Molly was about to throw open the door when her voice of reason spoke again. _Death Eaters can use the Polyjuice Potion to fool their victims, remember? _She pressed he ear to the door."Who was Errol?" All the children had the same pass-question.

"Percy's owl that died last year, now open up!"

Molly quickly unlocked the bolts and pulled Ginny into a tight hug.

"Mum! Mum, please!" Ginny mumbled, catching a mouthful of her mother's hair in the process.

Molly let her out of the hug but held her at arm's length by the shoulders. "What's the matter? Did that Potter boy—oh, Ron had said something like this would happen!"

Ginny's eyes widened in horror at what her mother was suggesting. "_No_, Mum, no! Nothing like that!" She squirmed out of her grasp.

"Well why are you back so early," her voice had risen an octave in worry. "Why were you in such a hurry to get inside?"

"I'm afraid we rather panicked, Mrs. Weasley," someone responded quietly. Molly looked up and realized that Harry James Potter was standing in her living room.

"Oh, hello Mr. Potter! I'm sorry, I didn't see you there at first. Please, have a seat; I'll fix a pot of tea for us all." At that precise moment there was a knock at the door. "That will be Arthur!" She bustled over to the door to ask him the pass-question and let him in.

"What's all the shouting about," Ron yawned as he came descended the stairs and flopped down onto the recliner. "Ginny, what's—Harry James? What are you doing here?"

"Arthur, Harry James is here, he's brought Ginny home," Molly informed her husband as she let him in.

"Oh, really? I thought the Gala wasn't over for another—"

"WOULD EVERYONE PLEASE JUST SHUT UP?" Ginny was still standing in the middle of the room, fuming.

"_What is the matter?"_ Molly hissed; Ginny knew better than to behave like that around company.

Harry James stepped over to the door where Arthur was still standing. "Mr. Weasley, someone cast the Dark Mark outside Madame Bones' during the Gala," he said in an almost inaudibly low voice.

"Was anyone hurt," Arthur asked in an equally quiet voice, but by now Molly was listening. She seemed about to go into a tizzy but he laid his hand on her shoulder, reminding her to clam down.

"Ginny, it was a pleasure." Harry James took her hand and kissed it in a very gentlemanly way. "I'm sorry to have to leave so soon, but I really must go find my parents."

"Oh, or course," Molly replied, despite the fact that he had been addressing her daughter. "Good bye dear, it was a pleasure meeting you! If you ever need anything, don't hesitate to come by."

He nodded goodbye to the room at large and left.

"_Mum_!" Ginny still looked mortified.

"What?"

Ron snickered and ran up the stairs before Ginny could catch him with a hex.

------

Harry had to admit; even he was impressed with how he handled the situation. He had even gotten back into the house to fetch his robes without getting Lily's attention. Now he would Apparate to the meeting and, if he was lucky, arrive only ten minutes late.

He found himself standing in another field in the middle of nowhere, which wasn't nearly full enough for everyone to be there yet. He breathed a sigh of relief.

The Dark Lord was already seated at a platform before the crowd, his head resting lazily on one hand. Harry took his place facing his master and, curiously enough, as he did so, the Dark Lord sat up and looked straight into his eyes. He could feel him prying into his mind again and couldn't help but wonder why. He hoped the Dark Lord would hear his question and give him an answer, but instead he found different memories flashing before his eyes. It was like he was walking around his house, examining every bookcase and coffee table, as though he were looking for something. The Dark Lord broke his gaze. It had only been a few seconds, but he had looked through every room in the Potter house, even in places Harry hadn't looked in years. He had quite literally flipped through his brain like a book. Harry had never known a Legilimens to do that, but then again he only knew one other, and the Dark Lord had shown himself to be much more powerful than that old man.

Harry glanced up at the platform again. It looked like his Master hadn't found whatever he was searching for.

**A/N:** Okay, poll: How many of you would read this story on FictionAlley(.)(org)if I started posting there? If some people won't, I'll probably continue posting the unbeta'd chapters here. The next chapter will definitely be posted here, even if only to give you the URL for the story.

But while you're waiting, anyone want to take a stab at why certain people call Harry "Harry James" versus just "Harry?" There's a definite rhyme and reason to it and, once you think about the characters for a moment, it shouldn't be too hard to figure out.

Oh and thanks, BabyDragon848 and Good Witch, for the heads-up with the Midazolam. I've poked around Wikipedia some more and settled on morphine instead for his drug-of-choice. It's a bit outdated, yes, but I think it'll serve my purposes for this story.

Next chapter: A Quidditch match, a special Death Eater meeting, and unhappy tidings from Dumbledore that lead to some surprising discoveries for all the Potters.

Staghunt: No, I haven't given up on "Slide," it's just that the plot is impossibly complicated; I'm waiting on book 7 to make sure nothing in that book completely obliterates what I plan on doing with that fic. Sorry.

If you see anything you think needs to be touched-up (aside from the grammar) in this chapter, please mention it in a review and I'll look into getting it into the beta'd version.

Reviews: _Always Appreciated_


	3. A Spot of Plot

Okay, sorry this one has taken so long; school's back in. Alot of you have mentioned your annoyance with the 'Harry James' thing, so I'll explain it. Or, rather, I'll post what the only person to get it right said.

**'HARRY JAMES' THING EXPLANATION:**

_Harry isn't living his dream, he has not been doing what he wanted. Everything is what his father wanted or wished he did at Harry's age. James is living vicariously through his son. Not only that but nobody sees Harry as an individual but as James's son or an extension of James. Hence Harry James.  
But, Harry like in canon wants to be just Harry and to be just Harry he has to be not James, and the easiest way to show a dynamic difference between the two of them is to be a Deatheater.  
So the possible plot reason for using the middle name is to have a constant reminder of why Harry is doing what he is doing, and to easily point out what the character who said it sees or thinks of Harry as_ ex: Lupin and Dumbledore call him 'Harry'.

Thanks to Necrule Paen at I told you there was a reason.

**A Spot of Plot**

Ginny was in a small pink room in the back of Madame Malkin's being fitted for another set of dress robes. The turquoise piece she had worn for the Gala had sold out the very next day, so Madame herself had graciously offered to dress Ginny for all her events _for free_. Ginny thought it was hilarious. Now that she could finally afford better clothes, she didn't have to pay for them.

There was a knock at the door and the seamstress stuck her with another needle before bustling over to answer it. "Yes?" she inquired through a mouthful of pins.

"There are two men here to see Miss Weasley," the muffled voice of a woman came through the door.

She took the needles out of her mouth with an aggravated gesture. "I told you not to let anyone in, Libby!"

There was an indignant gasp from Libby as someone else shouted through the door. "Gin, open up! It's us!"

Ginny tried to step down to open the door herself, but the sudden movement caused several pins to poke her all at once. "Let them in."

The seamstress frowned but opened the door. Fred and George entered, wearing their frumpy Ministry robes and carrying a rolled-up magazine.

"So, sister of ours, where's the ring?" Fred asked, waving the magazine.

"What ring?"

"According to _Witch Weekly_, you're engaged to Potter."

Ginny accidentally swallowed her gum. "What? Give me that."

_Ginny Weasley: A True Cinderella_

Born Ginevra Molly Weasley, Ginny is now better known as the "Gin" half of "Ginarry." Photographs of her can go for upwards of 400 galleons, and double that if Harry James is in the picture as well. She gets stopped in the streets for interviews and autographs. But before she began dating the English national Seeker, Weasley was a complete unknown and from a very humble back ground. Mrs. Holland Hornehand tells _Witch Weekly_ that the Weasley family bought their Hogwarts robes from her every year in her second-hand shop. She distinctly remembers the youngest child, Ginny, mostly because she was the only girl in the red-headed brood of seven.

After Hogwarts, where she did reasonably well (and even played as a Gryffindor Chaser), Weasley worked as a bus girl for Florean Fortesucue's Ice Cream Parlor. Following her appearance at the Hogwarts School Benefit Gala on the arm of WW's Most Eligible Bachelor (12 December 1998 issue) three months ago, Florean's became the "it" spot on Diagon Alley. Photogs and fan-girls alike had so swarmed the place that many other celebrities soon became regulars, no doubt hoping for a share in the attention. Florean's now boasts a new V.I.P room and a Hogsmead branch.

Obviously, Miss Weasley now found it more than a little difficult to work there. Her new role in the spot light landed her her current job as a Quidditch analyst for the pre-game wireless show, _The True Sport_. As it turns out, our Ginny is no ordinary flier's girl; she is _actually_ interested in Quidditch!

This spunky little red-head from Ottery-St.-Catchpole has certainly risen quickly. A source close to the couple told_ WW_ just yesterday that whispers of an engagement have begun to spring up already! Keep reading _Witch Weekly_ for further developments on the wedding of the century!

Ginny laughed and tossed the gossip rag back to Fred, though she earned another poke for doing so. "Actually, it says I've been 'whispering' about _getting _engaged. But what were you doing reading _Witch Weekly_, anyway?"

"We weren't."

"We were bombarded by every girl in the department this morning yelping 'Is it true, is it true?'" George did the jumping and hand motions to go along with the impression.

"So we came to find out for ourselves."

Ginny laughed again. "No, it's not."

"You're absolutely positive you're not going to marry Potter?"

"Well, I seriously doubt it."

"We're not untying Ron until we've got an 'absolutely'."

"Sure, George; 'absolutely.'"

"Good, because Ron was already making plans to cut off his—"

Ginny winced as the seamstress poked her harder than before in the neck.

The twins snickered. "Having fun?"

"Would you two leave already?"

-------

Lily brushed herself off as she stepped out of the fireplace and into a small, extremely purple room where a few of the England team members' wives and mothers were chatting before the game.

"Hilda!" Lily called, and an older woman with short, graying hair and too many rings turned around. Hilda Vangarde was the team matron; two of her sons and now her grandson had played for England.

"Oh, hello, Lily dear!" she replied as she made her way over. "How have you been?"

"Just fine, and you?"

"Oh, you know, I get along." She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Though I daresay I'd be getting along a lot better if Henry would come to his senses already and dump that Miranda girl." Lily glanced in the direction Hilda was scowling at and frowned. The woman in question was letting way too much hang out to be considered tasteful.

"I see what you mean."

"She dresses like that _everywhere_. I thought old Eliza was going to choke on her biscuit when she showed up for tea at Manningdorf's last Sunday." She shook her head. "Well, how are things going with your Harry James and Miss Weasley?"

"Oh, Ginny's a sweetheart. In fact, I was just about to ask—has she shown up yet?"

"Yes, actually. She left before any of us could introduce ourselves, but I think she's already in the box."

"Well, this is her first Quidditch game as our guest. She's always arrived by Portkey before."

"Ah, this is true. Since the Gala fiasco we've all been dying to meet her, though. You'll have to introduce her to everyone after the game tonight. All the ladies will be meeting in the reception room outside the lockers. The Italian Minister's wife is bringing refreshments."

"I'll make a point of it."

Lily found Ginny in the top box sitting next to Remus.

"Hello, Ginny! Glad to see you found your way up alright." Lily hugged her and Remus then took her seat beside Ginny. "How've you been?"

"Just fine."

"Glad to hear it. Oh, I've been meaning to ask you—did Sirius ever come to set up security at your new place?" she asked, placing her purse beneath her seat.

"Security? No, I mean the photographers are annoying but I don't need anyone to come—"

Remus leaned into their conversation. "It's not just for photographers."

Lily glanced around to be sure no one was listening.

Ginny's eyes widened. She lowered her voice. "What? Why would _he_ come after me? My family is pure-blood, we've never done anything to anger _him._"

"But if you're not for him, you're against him." Remus replied. "And You-Know-Who likes to make…examples of the well-known."

"You saw what happened at the Gala. He got the attention of the press because of the type of people there." Lily added. "I'm sorry about all this dear, but it really is necessary."

"No, I mean, it's fine." Ginny said, shifting uncomfortably under all the unwanted attention. "I just never thought about it that way, I guess."

"Good. Well, we'll take care of it tomorrow morning. Sirius and James will have nothing better to do."

"Speak of the devils." Lupin pulled his feet in to allow his fellow Marauders to pass.

"What have you volunteered us for tomorrow morning, O dearest wife?" James asked as he offered Remus a glass of firewhiskey.

"I'll explain it to you at home. Look! They're coming out onto the field."

James and Sirius suddenly ceased all conversation and leaned forward intently in their seats, eyes locked on the players. Lily sighed. This was the first game of the World Cup and England was playing the host nation, Italy—not to mention that this was the fulfillment of all James and Sirius' hopes and dreams since Harry James was born. Those two had been trying to get him on the England team since his fifth year, but the International League had had some apprehensions about allowing an underage wizard to play (despite the fact that he was already on Puddlemere), and for the past two years the Seeker position had been held up by Alvarius Mondain in some shady deal with Ludo Bagman.

"They'll be like that until the end of the match." Lily said to Ginny, and the two struck up a conversation again as all the pre-match pomp went underway.

"Where's your other friend, Peter?" Ginny inquired politely sometime later during a lull in the match.

"Oh, he said he had some business report to finish tonight. We did have a ticket saved for him."

"Does anyone know what that was about?" Remus interjected into their conversation once again. "It's the _World Cup_; no-one's working."

"You know Peter; he's still vying for that management position."

Remus made a humming noise and took another sip of his drink.

"_SCORE ENGLAND!" _the British commentator's voice came over the loud booing of the Italians and Lily, Remus, and Ginny stood up to cheer with the rest of the crowd.

------

_Where is that worthless Snitch? _Harry was ready for this match to be over with.

Once upon a time, he liked Quidditch—or at least he thought he did. James and his "uncles" (as he used to call the Marauders) began passing on their fanaticism the moment he was born—he had had more than one Snitch-shaped pacifier as a baby. As soon as he learned to walk James began trying to get him on a broom. He even enjoyed playing Seeker when he got a little older; like any other kid, he wanted to please his parents.

But then he went through puberty.

Where was the effing Snitch? _Ah, here we go._

-----

"What time is it, Pettigrew?" Lord Voldemort demanded.

"6:37, my Lord."

"He's had twenty minutes now. Give me your arm." He was eager to get on with his plans for this evening.

"Yes, my Lord." He began to wince in anticipation of pain even before Voldemort got out his wand. What a whiny little thing.

The Dark Lord had made a personal call on the "rat" earlier that afternoon, inviting him to listen to the match on the wireless so that he could make sure he would be on time for this evening's meeting—not that Pettigrew knew about the last part. No, Pettigrew had been first surprised, then had wavered between hope that this meant he was on his good side and fear that this was a cover for something else. His confusion only made him more irritating.

They had been sitting on a raised platform beside a lake listening to the game for the past two hours, Lord Voldemort in his typical green, high-backed chair and Pettigrew on a wobbly three-legged stool. Merlin, he would be glad to see the back of that pitiful excuse of a wizard.

Soon enough, his other Death Eaters began to arrive, many obviously drunk. Pettigrew was still sitting on the platform, gloating in what he perceived to be his Master's favoritism.

Lord Voldemort scanned the crowd. The elder Malfoy, along with a few others, appeared very displeased about Pettigrew's position… Snape must have gotten that job with Dumbledore, because he wasn't around….Morment seemed particularly intoxicated…and, ah! Harry Potter, the man of the hour. One wouldn't have known he had just "saved the nation's dignity," as the radio commentator had put it. But, no matter, his languid manner would change soon enough.

The Dark Lord stood and silence fell over the group. "Harry Potter! Come forth." Potter wound his way through the crowd and many craned their necks to catch a glimpse. Most, if any, didn't know that he was a Death Eater. He stood upon the platform and kissed his Master's ring.

"Harry Potter," Lord Voldemort said for all to hear. "A question has arisen concerning your loyalty."

His body went rigid with fear, but he didn't run. "My Lord, I can assure you, I—"

"Of what relation to you is this man?" He gestured to Pettigrew, whose eyes had grown to the size of dinner plates.

"A friend of my father's." Potter appeared puzzled.

"What does he mean to you?"

"Nothing."

Pettigrew's jaw was hanging.

"Rise." Potter did so. "This man is a traitor." He gestured to Pettigrew again.

"Master! My Lord! I never, I couldn't! Please, I beg you! Listen! I—" Pettigrew was kneeling upon the platform, clutching the hem of the Dark Lord's robes.

The Dark Lord ignored him and addressed Potter again. "Stand behind him. His fate is in your hands." Lord Voldemort's wand was extended, its tip touching Pettigrew's forehead. Everything was arranged perfectly. Potter stood in Pettigrew's wake; the little national hero would be kept safe enough for now. He would never even know what really happened.

Pettigrew was shouting out of the corner of his mouth and trying to look out the back of his head. "Harry James! Please, it's me, your Uncle Peter! You couldn't! You can't! Please! What would your mother think? Your father—"

"Kill him."

Lord Voldemort cast the curse, and, in the temporary confusion that inevitably follows death, he cast another spell, or curse—he wasn't sure that it could be defined—upon Potter. They were both thrown backward. The Dark Lord regained his stance and, not even bothering to make up an explanation for his Death Eaters, rushed over to Potter. He had fallen onto several Death Eaters and was fighting his way back up, but there, on his forehead, was a purpleish lightning bolt scar, partially hidden by his hair. A twisted smile stretched itself from ear to ear across his deformed face.

After all these years, Lord Voldemort had something of Gryffindor's.

-----

Severus Snape Apparated to the meeting out of breath. There was only the Dark Lord, sitting in his chair upon the platform, a disturbing grin lingering upon his face, and a dead man.

"You're late, Snape."

"Master," he said, leaning upon the platform, panting. "There has been a prophecy."

-----

_The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches ... Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies ... And the Dark Lord will mark him as equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not ... And either must die at the hand of the other for neither can live while the other survives… _

------

"Someone overheard it." Dumbledore said, his hands rubbing circles over his temples. He was seated in the Potter kitchen across the table from Lily. James was bent over the sink, running cold water over his head to sober up.

He turned off the tap. "Someone overheard?" He dripped water all along the floor as he walked to the table.

"I've sent some others to tail him."

Silence.

Lily had her hands over her eyes. "Approaches?" She questioned, referring back to the prophecy, trying to find a flaw in its meaning.

"That one word has too many connotations to draw any conclusions from its implications," Albus answered.

"But it still means it may not be Harry James." She looked up at Dumbledore.

"I'm afraid," he said, sitting up and clasping his hands, "that it could only be one of two people; your Harry or Neville Longbottom."

"Neville?"

But before any more could be said on the matter, Harry stumbled through the cellar door and into the kitchen. He obviously hadn't expected anyone to be home.

-----

Lily rushed forward and held him in a loose hug, crying. James went over and put his hand on his shoulder.

_What's going on?_ Harryt didn't like this at all….

"What were you doing in the cellar?" Dumbledore asked. Harry looked up with a start; he hadn't even noticed the old man was in the room.

Lily broke away from her son and James quirked his head. No, Harry most definitely did not like this. He grabbed the door handle behind him to make a run for it, but James still had a good hold on his shoulder. He was forced into a chair at the table.

"Harry," Dumbledore tried again. "What were you doing in the cellar?" The old man was trying to use Legilimens on him. He kept his eyes shut, which was only certain to raise their suspicions. But at that point, there wasn't much else he could do. His hand slowly inched toward his wand.

"Harry James?" Lily knelt before his chair and took him by the shoulders, her distress apparent in her voice. "What's the matter? Oh!" She cried as her hand went to his forehead. _Oh shit. _"Where did you get that scar? Tell, us dear, please, whatever it is. You can trust us…." But he kept his eyes stubbornly closed and his mouth tight. He felt her move away.

Someone spun Harry's chair around. His eyes were still closed.

"Harry, what were you doing in the cellar?" It was Dumbledore before him now. He seized his wand, but James quickly snatched it away. He was beginning to panic. He grabbed his father's hands, which were still holding his shoulders in a firm grip, in an attempt to escape, but James yanked his hands out of his grasp. Dumbledore conjured ropes around his wrists and ankles, tying him to the chair. "James, get Horace Slughorn on the Floo. I need a bottle of Veritaserum, but tell Horace to stay put." Harry heard Albus pull another chair from the table and sit down facing Harry, whose eyes were still closed.

James came back to the table. Lily was sniffling somewhere to Harry's right.

"Hold his head."

James placed both hands over Harry's forehead, covering that scar, and held him back against the chair. Albus uncorked the vial and pulled Harry's jaw down. He thrashed about and tried to wriggle out of his bonds or move his head, but it was of no use.

Dumbledore forced a single drop down his throat, and his mind became eerily blank and his body still. He opened his eyes. The room was too bright after closing his eyes for so long and the old man's face swam before his.

"What were you doing in the cellar?" he asked.

"Changing robes." The answer came to his mind and out of his mouth without his consent.

"What were you wearing before?"

"Black robes."

"Anything else?"

"A white mask."

"You are a Death Eater then?"

"Yes."

"Of your own free will?"

"Yes."

Lily broke into a fresh wave of sobs from her position in the door. James looked upon his son as if he had never seen him before.

"Who gave you that scar?"

"The Dark Lord."

Lily gave a yelp and tried to get to Harry, but James held her back.

"How?"

"I was too close to a killing curse."

-----

Dumbledore frowned. The excess of a curse never left so distinct a mark… He held a steady gaze into Harry's eyes and immediately found what he was looking for. There was a flash of green, and then another spell was cast; something very old, and very dark—something no man should know.

He leaned back into his chair and James let Lily go. He wasn't sure what to think of this. It was highly unexpected for Lord Voldemort to use a living creature; it was too rash.

But it did bring one conclusion.

"Well, Harry is definitely the one mentioned in the prophecy." He said,

and suddenly the senselessness of it all washed over him. How on earth was he to work _this_ problem out?

Lily turned around to face Albus. "What?"

But Harry was beginning to stir. James put a gag in his mouth. By the look on his face, he was clearly repulsed by his son. Had things really come to this?

"Lord Voldemort lied to Harry about this scar. It is a Horcrux—or an indication of one." They had been backed into a corner; Lord Voldemort now held the definite upper hand. At that moment, Albus felt every bit of his eighteen seconds, twenty-seven minutes, three hours, twenty-one days, five months, and one-hundred-fifty-five years.

"What in Merlin's name is a Horcrux," Lily asked, instinctively moving toward her son, but stopping short. Harry's eyes were wide and his brows were furrowed; he had look of a wild man, ready to attack at the slightest threat.

"It's something for the bastard to keep part of his soul in." James replied bluntly, his jaw rigid and his knuckles white from gripping the back of a chair, keeping his eyes intently upon the ground.

_"What?"_

Albus sighed. "Voldemort has pieces of his soul, though I don't know how many, stored in various objects for safekeeping, so that when his original soul dies, he can use another. I believe he has been trying to get one from all the Founders for quite some time now. But four have been destroyed—three by myself—so far. One quite recently, actually…" he explained, pulling up his sleeve to reveal a scab that had turned green rather than the typical burgundy. He had acquired it while retrieving a Horcrux in the form of a teacup. "One has to kill another person and then know the proper spell to create a Horcrux. It's very, very old, dark magic; there are only two books, to my knowledge, that touch upon the topic." Despite popular opinion, he had no pretensions of being some sort of all-powerful, all-knowing pseudo-deity. But he couldn't help but feel that he should have seen this coming; he knew that the Potters were never the picture of perfection they pretended it to be. Albus had always thought it was just their way of "keeping up with the Joneses," so to speak. If he had just taken the time, he would have seen that something was seriously wrong. He had made an error, a lapse in judgment that could cost them their lives.

"But, but whyHarry James?" she asked, next to tears.

Albus turned to James, who let out a short, bitter laugh. "That bastard," he muttered and shook his head. "I'm something like the great-great-great-great-great grandson of Marigold Thorbring, whose maiden name was Gryffindor." Lily's jaw dropped.

Albus certainly wasn't surprised that Lord Voldemort would have such information; he put very little past his former pupil and had come to expect most anything from him. No, it was more a question of how he had acquired it. He had been certain that he and James were the only people left with that information—after he had learned of the Horcruxes, he had made sure of it.

"Why didn't you tell me?" She was absentmindedly turning the wedding ring around on her finger.

James shrugged. "I didn't think it mattered."

"Your ancestry has very little to do with who you are; it only matters to those who want to use you for what you symbolize."

"Like Voldemort."

"Precisely."

They all sat in silence once again, letting the information sink in. Harry still had a feral, incoherent look, but he had momentarily given up on his struggle. The sun began to rise with the new day's light and Albus was reminded that he too had responsibilities to get on with. This was not the end; they had stuck this out for far too long. They would come up with a temporary plan and then handle each new day as it comes. His mind began to work furiously.

"It is imperative that Harry does not leave the house or come in contact with anyone apart from you and perhaps Messrs Lupin, Black, and Pettigrew; I think I'm I right in believing they can be trusted." He broke the long-held stillness and rather startled all three Potters. "I'm going to the Prophet to make a press statement. I'll be back shortly."

"You're not really going to tell the papers about all this?" Lily looked very tired and borderline hysteric. James clasped her hand tightly. "You don't plan on turning him in, do you?"

"No, not at the moment," Albus replied, fixing Harry with a stern gaze. Harry almost didn't seem to see him. " But I think that it will be for the best if we tell the press that he has died, so no-one will question his absence from the Cup."

-----

NATIONAL SEEKER DEAD!

The body of Harry James Potter was found at 1:42 this morning just two streets over from _I Mutandoni della Strega_, a wizard's pub in Rome's _Fattucchiera_ district, where the rest of the English team was celebrating its victory. He was presumably on his way to join them when he was attacked by a group of Italian-side hooligans. In the press statement made by Albus Dumbledore on behalf of the Potter family, it was revealed that the body was found by the Seeker's father, James Potter, who had been attending another party in the area. Reportedly, he had recognized one of his son's Quidditch gloves lying beside a pile of boxes and over-turned rubbish bins. Upon closer inspection, he saw a foot sticking out from under one of the boxes and quickly removed the waste from on top of what turned out to be Harry James' body.

Augustus Pye, assistant to the coroner in London, performed the inspection and declared Harry James Potter deceased at 3:23 this morning. The cause of death was listed as 'internal bleeding,' indicating that his attackers had beaten him in Muggle-fashion, though traces of the Cruciatus and Body-Bind curses, as well as a Silencing charm were found on his person. A press conference with the Healer and Headmaster Dumbledore, as well as the Potters' lawyer, Quinton MacMillan, has been scheduled for seven p.m. this evening. The Potters themselves will not be in attendance and have declined to comment.

World Cup officials are leading the investigation and have already apprehended several known hooligan leaders, though official questioning has not yet begun. As of 5:51 this morning, the International Quidditch Federation's team of investigators and lawyers were still insisting that there was no involvement by the Italian team or its officials, and soon after Italian team captain Adalberto Adamo issued his own press statement expressing his grief at the loss of "one of the sport's most prolific players" and his sympathies to the Potter family.

There will be a public mourning at Puddlemere Stadium tomorrow evening at four p.m. The funeral will be a private, closed-casket service held at St. Herman's Hall in Ipswitch at ten a.m. on Tuesday.

------

And all England mourned their World Cup chances.

A/N: So, whadduya think? I'll keep posting unbeta'd chapters here, since most of you guys requested that I do so. Beta'd chapters will be on **http/www (dot) fictionalley (dot) org/authors/liseli/shells01.html** and **http/groups (dot) yahoo (dot) com/group/liseligroup**, and I think you should definately check out the group--there's a loverly picture of James Dean (similar to how I see Harry in this story) there, and a banner coming from my wonderful beta sometime soon, hopefully.

By the way, I really do appreciate the reviews. **Reviews help keep me writing, people.** They're like my crack.

-Eli


	4. Tube Ride

A/N: Okay, just a few things before I begin. First, Harry's part is supposed to be disjointed; I wrote it to reflect his thoughts. Faulkneresque? Hell no, that is horribly difficult to read. This is just the same concept, 'kay? Also, he's really mean in this part. It may seem out of character, but keep in mind the state of mind he's in. Secondly, the tones of the first few points of view are not indicative of the whole chapter. If they bug you, just skim them and get over it. I promise it doesn't last long, alright? But there are only a few readers I think they will bother. You probably even know who you are.

Thirdly, **this is a revised chapter**. I posted this chapter a while back, but some people were kind enough to point out some glaring problems; I believe they are sufficiently corrected.

Done? Done.

James was gripping the back of one of the dinning chairs, rocking it back and forth and biting at his bottom lip. His gaze hadn't left the spot of light that the sun was reflecting onto the polished oak table in what felt like hours, years.

Lily was sitting to his left with her head between her hands, silently sobbing.

He could hear a chair scraping along the floor in the kitchen one room over. Harry James was still bound to it and gagged.

"I think we should chain him up and throw him into the storage room downstairs," Sirius said from his position across the room, leaning against the china cabinet. Lily allowed her arms and head to fall onto the table and began sobbing vocally again. James shot Sirius a look.

"Twilly," he called quietly. The house elf appeared with a loud _crack_

"Yes, M-M-Master James?" she stammered, ringing the end of her pillow case.

"Take Lily up to our room. Give her a large cup of tea and perhaps a good sleeping charm." He set his chair down and went over to his wife.

"Don't you dare chain him up and—" she began, standing shakily and holding up a threatening finger at her husband. Her eyes were bloodshot and her face was horribly tear-streaked. James looked away but took her by the hand.

"We won't, I promise. Now go with Twilly, we'll wake you if anything happens."

"Someone needs to go talk to Ginny."

James glanced at Sirius again.

"I'll do it, Lily," he said.

Thinking of nothing else to say and thus having no other excuse to remain, Lily sighed deeply then went obligingly to the door.

She and Twilly left and James threw his head back. What were they going to do? He looked across the room at Sirius. He had been his best friend for thirty years, at least—what could happen now? Would he betray them too? Could he really trust anyone? He shook his head and put his hands again on the back of the chair before him. There was no use growing paranoid.

A few moments later a crash came from the kitchen. It sounded like Harry James had fallen over.

"Come on mate, we have to do something with him."

James nodded and crossed the room, his feet dragging along the floor with fatigue.

He tapped the tall wooden door with his wand and it swung open. Harry James was on the floor, still attached to the chair and thrashing against his bonds. Sirius and James walked up to him and the former righted the chair with his wand.

James stood before his son, filled with unbearable frustration and confusion. It just didn't make sense, none of it did….

"That's not natural," Sirius muttered.

James snapped back to attention. "What?"

"His eyes."

James looked. His son's eyes were like a solar eclipse at its zenith; the pupils were so large that only a thin rim of green could be seen around them.

"No curse would do that," James said after a moment, dumbstruck.

"Is he that afraid?"

Harry James let out a ragged growl from his gag.

Sirius snorted and Harry James jumped his chair onto his godfather's foot.

"You bastard!" he cried as he pulled his foot out. "You know, I think we ought to shut him up in the cellar, Lily'll never know."

"We can't do that."

"Why not?"

"Because he's still my son, that's why." James kicked the chair in anger and resentment, struggling to hold back tears for the first time that morning. "Whether I like it or not."

------

Lord Voldemort threw the _Prophet_ into a dustbin. "Harry Potter is not dead," he hissed to himself.

The old man was behind all this.

But why would he declare him dead?

The Dark Lord's red eyes flashed.

_He knows_….

**------**

Ginny woke up around seven, which was really too early for her taste, especially after such a long night. Her sleep-fuzzied mind tried to go back to its former state, but the sounds of pots banging and a kettle whistling in the kitchen wouldn't allow it. She rolled onto her stomach and pulled her pillow over her head. "It's too early for this," she mumbled.

Suddenly her eyes snapped open. Who the hell was in her flat?

She cautiously reached for her wand, trying to move as little as possible. But then she realized just what this person was doing in her kitchen—they were cooking. She listened closely. The footsteps were heavy and scuttled—it was her mother. After many years of being the "lookout" for Fred and George, she could identify her mother by the sound of her footsteps—well, there was that and the fact that she knew no-one else in their right mind would be cooking for her at this time in the morning.

She pulled on a robe and went into the kitchen.

"What are you doing here, Mum?"

Her mother turned around and Ginny saw by her splotchy face that she had been crying. Before she could inquire as to the reason, she was enveloped into one of the suffocating hugs her mother had a habit of giving.

"Oh, Ginny dear, I'm so sorry," she sobbed. "Are you going to be okay?"

"Mum, Mum!" She fought her way out of the hug. "What's wrong?"

But her mother couldn't seem to get the words out. "You haven't heard?" was all she managed to say as she handed Ginny a copy of the morning Prophet.

"NATIONAL SEEKER DEAD," it was the headliner; front page news. Her stomach dropped to her toes.

She read the article and placed the paper on the table, aware that her mother was watching her.

"Are you alright, dear?" she asked, giving her shoulder a squeeze.

"Your bacon is burning."

Ginny took a seat and ran her finger along the edge of the plate in front of her while her mother returned to the stove. Her mind was a complete blank. She didn't know what to think or to feel. _Later_, she told herself. _Later, you'll feel it. Later, you'll cry._ But just now, before the reality of it all settled in, she realized that she really hadn't really known Harry James—better than most, perhaps, but not really.

-------

"The dumb little f---…." Sirius let his sentence trail off as the oak-paneled elevator began to ascend. He had repeated that phrase so many times in the last two hours that the words no longer satisfied his frustration and his vocabulary hadn't sufficiently served his needs since his second year, so he was at a loss to say anything else.

He exited at the sixth floor of a muggle flat complex. There were windows facing the Thames to his left and a long hallway to his right. It was a rather new housing development and as it had a view of Parliament (if you squinted, that is), it had to be enormously expensive. But this Weasley could afford that now, couldn't she?

Sirius's arrival at Ginny's door brought his thoughts back to the topic of his unfinished sentence—the dumb little… miscreant (that was a word, right?) that _was_ his godson. Was. James still thought of him as family, but Sirius just couldn't. Anyone who would do something like that didn't deserve a family, especially as good a one as Harry had.

"Dammit, you little bastard," he mumbled as he knocked on the door of number six.

That morning he and James had put a full Body-Bind on Harry and levitated him up to his room. They locked and sealed it, then put a Silencing charm around it. The Body Bind would wear off fairly quickly and the Order had started to arrive to "comfort the mourning," make funeral arrangements, and generally be a nuisance. They couldn't have "the poor, dead soul" making any noise with his thrashing.

"Just a moment," called a woman's congested voice from inside, followed by what sounded like a nose being blown. It was probably the girl's mother.

As the door swung open to reveal a stocky, middle-aged woman with flaming red hair, Sirius said in a low, threatening voice, "Don't ever answer a door without being sure of who it is."

That ruffled the aproned hen's old feathers.

"Well then just who in the name of Merlin are you?" she demanded, one hand going to her hip and the other to the wand in her front pocket.

"I'm Sirius Black, a friend of the Potters. But you'd better hope I'm not an imposter." _Wonderful,_ he thought, _I have_ become_ Mad-Eye Moody._

The woman's expression immediately changed from aggravation to humility. "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry Mr. Black. We've just heard about….Oh, well, please, do come in." She shuffled aside to let Sirius in from the landing.

He stepped into the cramped, yellow little foyer and followed Mrs. Weasley as she carefully maneuvered between the coat rack and the side table into the kitchen. Sirius nearly tripped over the umbrella receptacle.

Apparently even money couldn't buy much space in London.

The kitchen was the same bright yellow with white cabinets and new, shiny muggle appliances, all of which matched one another. There were a few paintings of shapes hanging on the walls, which Sirius supposed were "modern art," and a cauldron sitting in front of the window, cleverly disguised as a fern planter.

Ginny was slumped over a small chrome table, still in her pajamas. The steady rhythm of her breathing suggested that she was sleeping rather than crying.

Sirius squeezed himself around the table and pulled out a chair, waking the girl.

"Sausages?" the matron offered as he sat down, but Sirius held up his hand in as polite a gesture of refusal as he could bring himself to give that morning.

"Ginny, I'm sure you've heard…" he began.

She ran her fingers through her knotted bangs and took a sip of the cold cup of tea before her. "Yeah, I've heard."

"Well, then I suppose there isn't much to say." He wouldn't lie any more than he had to for that traitor.

Her eyes held a dim, sleepy look of confusion. "You don't know anything else?"

"The paper pretty much has the whole story."

"Oh." She propped her elbow onto the table and let her head rest in her hand. Sirius was just grateful that she hadn't started crying on him or throwing knives at him—women could be crazy when they were emotional.

"Well," he said taking in a sigh and pushing out his chair. "The funeral will be tomorrow at four at Godric's Hollow."

Mrs. Weasley came to her daughter's side with fresh tea. "But the paper said—"

"Ipswitch Hall is just a cover story for the press, though I doubt it will keep Rita Skeeter away for long. I'll be here at three to pick you up Miss Weasley." He stood up to leave.

"I can get there myself."

"Lily asked me to pick you up."

"I'll be okay."

"Well… alright then. I've got a few security things to do to the flat, but I can do that outside," he said from the kitchen doorway.

"We certainly appreciate it, Mr. Black. If there's anything we can do for you, don't hesitate." Mrs. Weasley said as she walked him to the door.

"I'll be fine," he responded curtly.

"Goodbye then. Take care."

Sirius nodded and shut the door.

Ginny didn't seem as broken up or hysterical as Sirius expected her to be. It was for the best; there was no use blubbering over such a bastard. Lily was doing enough of that anyway.

-----

"There's no good news anymore with today's youth," Lily's mother said as she patted her daughter's arm two days later. "Did I tell you little Nikifor Prodenski was arrested for dealing drugs? That was quite a blow to his mother, as you can imagine. He and your Harry James used to play together, not so long ago." She reached over for a tissue to wipe her eyes.

_Is this supposed to be comforting?_ Lily thought, incredulously. She shifted her position in the armchair. Being in that room was incredibly galling. It was filled with relatives and friends dressed in black who all thought she was crying for the same reason they were. They didn't know that Harry James was just two floors above them; she couldn't explain to them the reason for her pain.

And she felt just horrible for putting them through this.

"Oh, but your Harry James's case was different. He was a good boy. It's such a shame things turn out the way they do. I'm just glad your grandfather didn't have to live to see the day," she sniffled.

"Mum?"

"Yes love?"

"You're not helping."

"I'm sorry dear," she said, bringing Lily's head onto her shoulder and stroking her hair. "I'll be quiet."

A murmur of voices continued throughout the sitting room; people mourning and reminiscing and whatnot. Lily could scream for frustration. None of this was right. This wasn't how things were supposed to be.

-----

James and Sirius sat facing an empty fireplace in his study. The pair of them could have been sitting there for ten minutes or thirty years; they wouldn't have noticed the difference. Too much had happened. That first game of the World Cup seemed like a lifetime ago and everything that had happened since then could have been an entire lifetime in itself.

Downstairs everyone was gathering for the funeral—two hours early. James couldn't stand to be down there.

"Where's Remus?" Sirius asked, absentmindedly swirling the mead around his tumbler.

"He said he'd be here later. Said he didn't want to 'disturb' anyone," James replied, slumping further into his chair, wrinkling his black dress robes.

"Bullshit," Sirius said simply.

"I know."

That was Remus's antisocial crutch. He always said he made people feel uncomfortable because of his "condition", and normally they would talk him out of it, but James just didn't have the will to anymore.

"Where's Peter?"

"I dunno. Couldn't get him on the mirrors or the Floo."

"Has he been here since?" It wasn't necessary to state since when.

Sirius shook his head and took a sip of his drink.

"You'd think he'd call when he saw the paper."

"Unless he didn't see the paper."

James sat up. "Peter works for the effing Ministry. How could he not see the paper?"

"You don't think…?"

"_Shit."_

The two jumped out of their seats and flat-out ran through the study, down the corridor, and up two flights of stairs to Harry James's door, passing two very stunned cousin so-and-sos on the way.

James pointed his wand at the door and it flung open. Sirius came in right behind him and immediately locked it again.

The room had been torn apart. Drawers were open, the mattress was overturned, lampshades had been removed, a floorboard or two had been pulled up, and little bits of cotton and feathers were lying about the room from various pillows that had been ripped apart. Harry James was sitting on the cushionless window seat with his arms around his knees, shaking. He hadn't so much as flinched when James and Sirius came bursting in.

"WHERE IS PETER?" James roared, inches from Harry James's face. He had never, ever spoken to his son like that before, but again, he appeared unmoved.

"I asked," James began again, stepping back and clenching his jaw. "Where is Peter?"

Harry James laughed quietly, but as the looks of horror and fury grew on his father and godfather's faces, so did his laughter. It was a base, hollow laughter that conveyed no pleasure or enjoyment. It was an insane laugh.

James pulled his son up by his jet-black hair and pointed his wand at his nose. His laughter didn't cease.

_"Cruci—"_ James began, but stopped in shock of his own actions. _This wasn't happening. _For a moment, even Harry James was silent.

"You can't do it, can you?" He wasn't jeering; merely observing.

James threw his son onto the floor. His breathing was quick and his heart was fast. He stepped back and looked at Harry James, still lying as he had thrown him, a mad grin on his face.

James mustered all of his self control and said, "I have a better idea."

-----

Harry was again bound and gagged in a chair, but this time he was in an attic, sitting so close to a window that his nose touched the panes, and the chair magically sealed to the ground so he couldn't turn it over. James's "better idea" was to have him watch his own funeral.

Harry was quite sure Lily had no knowledge of this.

The punishment was unusual, yes, but nowhere near as severe as the crime, and it beat the hell out of the Cruciatus any day, no matter what James thought.

His eyes were darting back and forth, glancing at the wisteria, the smudge on the window, the fly on the sill, the second black chair from the left of the oak tree, the casket.

There had only been one syringe left, halfway full.

His thoughts jumped back to two, maybe three days before. His memories were blurred; he couldn't make sense of anything that had happened after the meeting. There was a lot of talking and a lot of things were said that wouldn't have made sense to him even if he had been sober. There must have been some sort of potion in there too. He felt more jittery than usual.

People were starting to take their seats. Long, black robes in tall, black seats.

The wind blew one witch's hat off—big, bushy brown hair. Hermione Granger. Harry had always thought she needed a good banging; too bad no man on earth would do her. He'd met uglier girls who'd gotten some; she was just a know-it-all who didn't know when to quit.

…

It was the end of his second year and he had just gotten his course choices for the next term. Everyone was at dinner and Seamus Finnegan was leading a discussion amongst the boys of their year on the sleeping benefits taking Muggle Studies, which was useful information, yes, but they had been stretching the point for ten minutes now. Hermione Granger was sitting opposite them, her face undergoing several contortions behind _One Thousand Magical Herbs and Fungi _as she tried to keep her mouth shut on the issue. They were doing their very best to get a reaction out of her.

"I mean, just think about it. Every now and then you do a foot-long essay, but then you're home free." Seamus had said roughly the same thing three times now.

"I think that's an _excellent_ idea. Between that and Divination, it'll be like we never signed up for electives at all!" Harry added.

That did it. Granger stuck her head out of her text book. "You can't schedule classes based on how much they'll let you sleep!"

"And why not?" Dean asked, hoping to really get her going.

"Because what classes you take affect what jobs you're eligible for! I mean, what exactly can you do with an N.E.W.T. in Divination?"

"Who said anything about N.E.W.T.s?" Ronald Weasley mumbled. Neville snorted in his pumpkin juice.

"What are you going to do after Hogwarts?" She was taking all the fun out of this game. "Hmm?" She looked Seamus in the eye but he shrugged out of her gaze. "What about you?" she asked Harry.

"Play Quidditch for Puddlemere," he replied, thinking he had outsmarted her. He didn't need any N.E.W.T.s to be a Seeker.

"You've almost got a better chance of being struck by lightning than playing _any_ sport professionally."

"Ha! That shows what you know!" Seamus said, pulling his fist back in victory.

"Yeah, Harry James is great at Quidditch."

"The youngest Seeker in a century!"

Harry leaned back in his seat, a smug look on his face. Granger only thought she knew everything.

"But it's just a _game_." She rolled her eyes.

"The greatest game in the world!"

"Better than football, even!" Dean had been converted earlier that year.

"Boys…" She looked at Harry specifically now. "Why do you like it so much, anyway? You're just chasing a ball around. There's more to life, you know."

…

He laughed. What on earth could be better than Quidditch? Really now, why wouldn't he want to spend his life being endlessly praised for beating a ball the size his thumb at hide-and-go-seek?

The fly had moved from the sill to the pane opposite his left eye.

The attic smelled like dust.

Lily, James, Sirius, and Lupin were the last to take their seats. A front and center view of an empty casket. Dumbledore stood up to give the eulogy.

_I'm sure they're all quite moved_.

It went on for what felt like hours. Dumbledore's mouth moved slower and slower. The afternoon light became too bright for his eyes. Way too bright. He closed them, but he could still see the redness of his eyelids and it hurt. His legs began to twitch against the chair.

A door opened behind him; the funeral was over.

-----

Lord Voldemort was finishing dinner with Severus Snape. They had been discussing his new position at Hogwarts and though he may never admit it, the Dark Lord was quite pleased with the new potions master. He had managed to gain Dumbledore's trust by skillfully using his Occlumency, even after being caught in the act of betraying the old man. It was quite impressive, though it meant that the Dark Lord would have to personally keep a close eye on him—having a tongue that slippery could be a dangerous thing.

But there was no denying that he had been very useful that morning. If Snape hadn't overheard the old man's conversation, Lord Voldemort could have been at quite a disadvantage….

"Well, Severus, I will not be expecting you at the regular meetings, but you will report to me on a reasonable basis, or _I_ will have to find you." Lord Voldemort leaned back and took a sip of his elven wine.

"Yes Master," Severus replied, nodding his head once. "I understand."

"Good. Give me your arm, and then you are dismissed."

Snape stood up and went to his master's side. He didn't wince as the Dark Lord pressed his wand to the Mark.

"Good evening, my Lord," he said, and bowed out.

Now it was time to check into a less rewarding plan of his.

-----

Harry hissed at the pain in his forearm. _Why now?_

Peeling himself up off the floor of his room where he had been left after the funeral, he reached for one of the nearby syringes and stuck it into his arm.

Nothing. He flopped back down onto the floor, but the pain in his arm wouldn't leave.

_Pull yourself together!_ His loyalties had just been questioned by the Dark Lord; he couldn't not show up for the very next meeting. It would be an act of betrayal.

And besides, the Dark Lord would be able to help him. He wouldn't have to be a prisoner, like he was here. He needed to get to his master, explain it all.

Harry cast around the room for his wand. _Oh, right._ He mentally slapped himself—that had been confiscated, of course. _Now what?_

He began rummaging around his room. He had been hiding things away in there for too long; there was bound to be something of use.

But his unstable mind quickly began to wander. _Focus, Harry. Focus._

After kicking around a few of the drawers sitting on his floor, he lied down on his stomach and stuck his arm under his bed.

_Empty again._ He had found another syringe under his bed.

But he did find something useful, a broom. Just as he stood at the window pondering the best way to break it, he realized that he would still need a wand to transfigure his robes. "Damnit," he muttered.

_The spare!_ Of course—James kept a spare in his bedside table. But how to get there? _Oh, come on, think!_

There was a guard outside his room, but… if he flew out of his room through the window then into James's, he could get to it easily enough. That was it.

-----

Remus was sitting outside Harry's door on "guard duty." He was there to keep Harry from getting out of his room, almost as if this was maximum-security time out.

The whole thing was just so bizarre.

He leaned his head back against the wall. _Why do bad things happen to good people?_ Well, really, he had always known that Lily and James weren't going to write a book on parenting, but he had never imagined that things would go this wrong. He scratched his head absentmindedly.

Just then, there was a crash of breaking glass in Harry's room and the house alarm went off. Lupin sprang to his feet and blasted open the door. He ran to the source of the noise, the broken window, nearly tripping on an overturned chair, just in time to see Harry flying on a broom—back into the house? Over the siren, Remus could just barely hear all the windows and doors on the lower levels of the house shutting themselves up. The spells guarding the house were designed so that should any openings be made in the house while it was armed, it would close up and not allow anyone out. But the spells had been cast so long ago that it was almost a minute before the enchantment reached the upper levels. James should have known better than to leave a rusty spell like that in place.

Remus held his breath helplessly, hoping that Harry would get trapped inside; there was no way he'd make it around in time to wherever Harry had gone. But apparently so many years of speed and broom training had paid off. He shot out of the room just as the window sealed off. Remus had begun to shout a Stunner when his own window closed up.

Lily and Sirius came panting into the room.

"What in Merlin's name did he do?" Sirius shouted over the alarm.

"He got away," Remus replied.

James entered the room wearing only a bath towel. "And with my spare wand!"

-----

Harry was pretty impressed with himself. He had flown through the window and grabbed James's wand _while_ James was in the room.

He had come running out of the bathroom, stark naked, just in time to see Harry pull open his bedside drawer without even dismounting his broom. He lunged at Harry, but Harry was out the window by the time he hit the ground. The look on his face was magnificent.

"That's what you get for raising a Quidditch player!" he shouted, though he wasn't sure if James heard it.

Touching down on the other side of the wood that bordered the back of Godric's Hollow, he threw his broom aside then transfigured his robes. The adrenaline rush had brought back his concentration, and Harry was glad of it. He took in a deep breath of the cool night air appreciatively—it was definitely good to be out of the house—and Apparated to the meeting.

He landed on his feet in the middle of yet another nondescript field, somewhere in Southwestern England. There was already a good sized crowd of black figures, but Lord Voldemort singled him out immediately.

"Why if it isn't Harry Potter!" he said from his dais. Harry didn't know if he should be pleased or terrified, but the slightly sarcastic lilt of the Dark Lord's voice didn't bode well. "Please, come forward."

Whispers of "_He's alive_?" came from behind every mask.

Harry moved up through the crowd, but didn't mount the platform.

"You know, I was just about to get a little party together to go out and find you, but you have rendered that unnecessary."

_What the f---?_

Harry slowly took a few paces back.

"I have a few questions for you, my dear boy, if you will just _sit still!"_ He shouted the last part and accompanied it with a flourish of his wand, and Harry found himself on his knees and stuck to the platform.

"My Lord, please, you know I would never—" His green eyes were large with fear and his voice shook. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, he wondered if this was how Peter felt before he died. But that was shoved aside by Voldemort's question.

"Did you or did you not tell Albus Dumbledore that you are a Death Eater?"

"Master, I—" He was cut off again.

"That is a yes or no question, Mr. Potter."

Harry opened his mouth to try his plea once more, but he realized that he could only say yes or no.

"Yes."

A hiss spread through the crowd.

"Did you tell him about the events of two nights previous?" Voldemort was walking around him, slowly. Harry kept his head hung low.

"Yes." _Had it really only been two nights ago?_

"Why?" Voldemort asked it without interest or curiosity, but merely as a formality. "You may say anything."

"I was under Veritaserum."

"Oh were you?" He stood before Harry now, staring down his long nose and directly into Harry's eyes. After what seemed like days under his painful red glare, he broke the gaze with a bitter laugh. "You are a stupid, stupid boy, allowing yourself to be so easily caught, Harry James—oh yes, you are like your father, more so than you realize. That name is well given." Harry felt a brief flash of anger at this accusation, but it was overshadowed by the surrounding circumstances. Voldemort walked to the other end of the dais and faced away from Harry, his hands behind his back.

Harry had no idea what was going to happen, but he did not want to find out. His mind jumped into fight-or-flight mode and he jumped right off the dais with it.

"Ah, ah, ah," Voldemort admonished, turning around and wagging one of his long forefingers. "I'm not through with you, little Jamesie. But will you stand and take it like a man, or will I have to restrain you again?"

His mind was nearly a complete blank from his jumble of nerves, instinct, and withdrawal, but, sensing his only opportunity to retain some control of the situation, Harry stood still. Voldemort nodded in approval "You have spoiled a very precious plan of mine, Harry James, and if you could not control your tongue then, there is no reason for me to believe that you will have the strength to do so in the future." He sighed in resolve. "You have become too great a liability, Harry James. I'm afraid this is the end of the line." Voldemort aimed his wand with a steady hand at Harry's heart. "Avada—"

Without thinking, Harry ducked the curse and began to scramble as far away from the dais as he could. He tried to Disapparate as he ran clumsily through the pitted field, but he was blocked by a ward.

Voldemort calmly crossed the platform and peered down at Harry, who had only managed to move a few meters away. "No, Harry James, it won't be that easy. _Crucio!"_

Harry had been put under the curse once before, in training, but that didn't make the sensation remotely more tolerable. It was every bit as horrible as he remembered.

"Yes, that was fun, wasn't it? Now why don't you cooperate—it will be much easier for us all."

Regaining his senses and relying on Quidditch reflexes once again, he got up and began running before The Dark Lord could cast another curse.

"Now now, Harry James. This isn't a game." Voldemort was on the ground now, standing with his arms crossed. "Even if you get away, you won't be hard to follow. Did you know that? Yes, I can track your Apparations easily. As soon as you arrived, you would be surrounded." Harry lost his mask as he tripped over a pothole and found Voldemort standing directly over him, a sea of black figures following not far behind. "Go ahead, try it," he whispered.

Being quite out of options, Harry squinted his eyes and Disapparated to the first place that came to mind.

He landed on his back at Euston Tube Station in a corner between the loo and a disused staircase.

He couldn't have picked a better place.

Racing up the staircase just as the Death Eaters began popping in, Harry fired a few curses in their direction without looking and headed for the Victoria Line. He rounded a corner and was submerged into a crowd of evening commuters, but he knew it would probably take more than that to lose his pursuers.

He ducked and a curse skimmed the top of his head. That was one good thing about the Underground; all the shiny surfaces reflected the light of the curses coming toward him, giving him ample forewarning to duck.

He pushed his way to the escalators and began taking them down two steps at a time. There was a chance that he would baffle them with all this muggle technology, but he didn't trust his luck that much.

Reaching the bottom of the escalator after being grazed by a few more spells, he sprinted down the round corridor and turned at the first left. Footsteps and shouts of "move!" directed to disgruntled passersby were close behind him, but Harry could hear the automated "mind the gap" reminder coming from around the bend.

He took the curve without slowing and glanced off the wall, running smack into the tail end of a pack of commuters boarding the train. Harry shoved himself through the crowd and into the car, staying low. Through the crook of a woman's elbow, he could see the train platform. Death Eaters were running up and down it, trying to figure out which car he was on, but there had been too many people coming out of the tunnel for them to have seen where he went.

The doors glided shut and the train lurched forward. Harry slumped down onto the floor, regaining his breath and trying not to notice the unusual looks he was getting for his robes.

The train stopped moments later and he was ready. He stood up and exited the train in the middle of the throng of muggles, incase any of the Death Eaters had actually boarded the train.

_King's Cross St. Pancras, excellent_, he thought, finding the tiled insignia on the wall. He knew exactly where he was.

He remained with the pack until he entered a new tunnel and was quite sure that there was no-one else in black robes around. Then he hurried along through the labyrinth of corridors to the southbound Northern Line and boarded the furthest car from the platform entrance.

It was now the tail end of rush hour, so there were only three other people in the car—a frustrated young woman having cell phone problems, another suit-clad woman thoroughly immersed in the evening paper, and a man who couldn't seem to keep his eyes open. Only the woman having cell phone problems gave him an odd look about his clothes, and he was left alone to collapse into a seat beside the emergency exit

"What am I going to do?" he mumbled to himself. The other passengers exited the train at the next stop, and Harry was left alone. He took out the stolen wand, but then a thought struck him. Could Voldemort track his wand activity too? It was possible; the Ministry could, after all, and they would probably arrest him for doing magic in a muggle area right now, anyway.

The train stopped at Old Street Station, but no-one boarded his car. Harry put the wand back in his pocket.

He couldn't go home, he couldn't go back to the Dark Lord—he really couldn't go anywhere in the magical world. He was supposed to be dead, and how would he explain the reasoning behind declaring him dead without admitting to being a Death Eater?

He had no money, no place to stay—he would die. Well, he could always go muggle and stay at Nik's…. That wasn't a pleasant thought. But he had no other options.

Deciding to risk it, he took the wand out and transformed one of the seat cushions into a suitcase, and then began making £50 notes with a counterfeiting spell he had found years ago. Those guys wouldn't take him in unless he had something to contribute. By the time he reached Bank Station, he guessed that he had some £2000 in his suitcase. He snapped it closed and exited the train.

A few minutes later he boarded the eastbound Central Line and settled in for the long ride ahead.

A/N: If you're wondering why Euston Station was the first place that came to his mind, all will be revealed soon. Hope you enjoyed. Please leave a review with any comments you may have.


End file.
